Music Therapy
by RavenLeFaeBowie
Summary: Reader is now working and living with the Avengers (and Loki) She has a troubled past, and after a rough day, has to rely on the only thing that seems to calm her...music... ((TIP: Listen to Denise La Salle's "Trapped by a thing called love" ))


You have been working with the Avengers for a few months now.  
After the incident with Jiaying had blown over, you were assessed by Coulson's team.  
You had only been living in _'Afterlife'_ for a year or two, and had barely begun your studies there.  
You weren't exactly like the other _'inhumans'_ , you didn't go through the terrigenesis process because you were born abnormal.  
There had been certain...restrictions when it came to _'breeding'_ between _'Inhumans'_ , in order to limit the possibility of creating beings with _extreem_ mutations.  
But that could only truly apply to those already within the safety of _'Afterlife_ 's walls, these things sometimes happened.  
 _How were your parents to know that secretly carried alien dna?_

But you were different, and it was something that clearly presented itself from a young age. To cut a long story short, your life had been a rollercoaster you never asked to ride and boy had the world payed for it. You were an outcast, and as you grew, you learned to roll with it. You were a rebel, and not a girl to be messed with.  
In time you'd mastered enough of your abilities to get by, and survive in this brutal world.  
But after that fateful day, when you were momentarily blinded by a flash of light, nearly dropping the food you'd stolen, and were offered a chance at a better life...yeah, you kicked that guy's arse.

The first time.

And the second.

But the third time's the charm, eh?...and it may have had something to do with the red-headed living photocopier they brought along...

At first you were kept segregated from the others.  
They didn't trust you, a mutual feeling considering you woke up _butt-naked_ in a creepy room with no doors or windows...  
They didn't trust your powers, or your ability to control them...sure there were a few hiccups, more often than you'd like to admit to, but hey, _creepy supernatural powers don't exactly come with an instruction manual!_  
In your short time there, Jiaying had managed to chip away at your barriers, to gain your trust with her radiating aura of understanding, acceptnce and motherly love. Something you, like many of the other 'inhumans', had lacked in your short life. She had been patient with you, learned all of your mood paterns, all of your tells, and had somehow begun to calm the raging storm within you.  
You had come so far in those few months, further than you had ever hoped through all those years of isolation.

 _You both loved and hated the woman for it!_

You let out a feral growl as bolt of purple energy burst through the training room, engulfing one of Tony's dummy bots and reducing it to a smoldering heap of scrap metal.  
The usually satifying result only server to further enrage you.  
You were royaly pissed!  
Not only by the shitty outcome of the latest unsuccessful mission, but by your sudden lack of control!  
 _You were better than this!_  
 _You'd come so far! You would not let this ruin everything you worked so hard for!_

Movement caught your eye, and a frustrated scream tore from your lungs as you released your fury on the mechanical goon.

...

The hallway was a mess, plants, paintings and other objects strewn about, and it only got worse the further Barton and Stark progressed toward the training room.  
"Well, looks like _someone_ isn't getting thir allowence.." Tony said with a smirk. "J.A.R.V.I.S?" he called  
"Yes sir?" replied the familiar disembodied British voice.  
Tony picked up a tattered framed print of an Iron Man poster, an expression like a kicked puppy washing over his face for a moment before he tossed it aside.  
"Where is the little _darling_? I think it's time we had a little talk, and I'm not thinking _'the birds and the bee's_ '" he said  
Clint smirked " _For once_ " he said under his breath, dodging the remnants of a potted plant with a smirk.  
"Miss [Y/N] is in the training room, blowing off steam, as it were" J.A.R.V.I.S replied "Though I wouldn't advise you attempt approach her at the moment sir"  
Tony raised an eyebrow, but proceeded to make his way to the elevator when Clint stuck out an arm to stop him  
"Hey Jeeves?" Clint called out.  
"It's J.A.R.V.I.S, Mr Barton" the AI corrected.  
"Yeah wahatever, tell me, is the sound system on?" the assasin asked.  
"Yes sir" the AI replied.  
"Playing heavy metal and stuff?"  
"Indeed sir"  
"Can you give us a little audio down here?" he asked, recieving a questioning look from Tony.  
"What's with the sudden interest in the kid's music tastes?" he asked, "Still going through those ' _moody years_ ' there Birdy?" he asked mockingly Clint held up a hand to silence him as he waited  
"As you wish sir" the AI responded, after a moment's silence, the air was filled with the thrashing heavy metal track, Till Lindemann's (Rammstein) vocals growling out a chorus. "Woah, woah, _alright_ , we get the idea! Shut it off!" Tony shouted over the sound, his hands raised.  
Barton nodded, seeming to appreciate the track more than his fellow Avenger. "Not bad..." he said "Uh, well actually, it might be...uh, so Jeeves? Where are the others?" Barton asked.  
For a moment, it almost sounded as if the AI had cleared his non-existant throat in annoyance at the name "They are currently in the city, eating shawarma. Miss Romanoff suggested they leave the Tower to give Miss [y/n] time to _'cool off_ ', sir" he informed them  
"Sounds like a great idea, we should go meet up" Clint said, his arm around Tony's shoulder as he tried to lead him away.  
Tony shirked him off with a scowl " ** _No way!_** " he opened a screen on a small glass pannel and began typing away as he spoke "I'm _not_ being kicked out of my own tower by some meta-bimbo having a temper tantru-" his words were cut short as he watched the action from the security cam  
"You know what, I haven't had shawarma in a while...let's catch up with the others before ol'thunderbolt clears the place out" he said, grabbing his coat.

..

Eventually the heavy metal lightened, gradually swapping out for rock, then finally club music as you worked out your _[literally]_ explosive agression.  
You began to calm down, to actually start enjoying your impromptu training session, dancing about and picking off each mechanical enemy with ease.  
You finally had somewhere to blow off steam without the risk of flattening a neighbourhood or two.  
You finally had somewhere to begin to relax, maybe let your guard down...have some fun...even having fun with the other Avengers.  
You had shelter, food. And you had friends... _maybe something a little more than that_...they cared for each other, and they cared for **_you._**  
You had somewhere to call home...somewhere to find happiness...and you'd had so little of that in your short life.  
A few flashbacks came to mind, an your anger bubbled to the surface, the row of dummy bots taking the full wrath of your painful past, disolving in a wall of pure energy... _pure rage._

...

As the sun began to set over New York, bathing the city streets in pools of orange, pink and purple hues, Stark Tower's audio systems were still in use.  
Though this time, the music drifted through the hallways, rolling out from the Avengers' main lounge.  
Icecubes clunked against the side of the glass as you drained the bitter liquid, shuddering as your throat burned and your stomach warmed.  
You picked up the bottle, giving it a shake and catching the last few drops on your tongue before tossing it in the bin with the others.  
Tony would probably flip out when the rest of the team returned from their debriefing with Director Fury, a meeting which you had been asked to skip, _given your current mood._  
But right now you just didn't care, and had been lounging in a baggy t-shirt and panties, enjoying the small freedom your ill-temper had earned you.  
 _Sometimes it did have its perks._  
Opening a new bottle, you topped your glass up, and swayed your hips along to the beat as you made your way back to the sofa.  
The melody was a stark difference to the thrashing earlier, soft drum beat and smoth jazz helping to soothe your troubled mind.  
With the aid of music, and a little alcohol... _[well, truthfully most of Tony's minibar]_ ; you were finally able to let your hair down.

 _"Somebody tell me, what has this man got? He makes me feel, what I don't wanna feel"_

The smooth, sultry voice of Denise La Salle rolled out, sinking to your soul. You closed your eyes, letting the music take you, feet brushing across the soft rug as you rolled your shoulders and swayed to the beat.

Slender, yet strong arms ghosted over your swaying hips, sliding around your waist.  
You let your head roll back as a face nuzzled your neck, a smile pressing against your skin as the other body moulded itself to your form, warmth seeping into you as a lithe yet muscled chest pressed into your back.

 _"Somebody tell me, what has this man got? He makes me give, what I don't wanna give"_

Silky hair brushed your cheek as the arms circled you, holding you close as the two of you rocked, a knee gently pushing into the back of yours as you began to sway.

You open your eyes, smiling as Loki spins you, pulling you back into his strong embrace as you dance together, his chin rested in the crook of your neck as your own hands snake around his body.

 _"On solid ground. I feel myself sinkin' fast..."_

He slides a hand down your side, a smile on his lips as his forest-green eyes meet your [E/C]s.  
A small, geniune laugh escapes your lips and he dips you, winking with a mischievious smirk.

 _"...I grab a hold. But I don't think it's gonna last"_

This often happened, when the others weren't around to see your softer, more vulnerable side.  
The two of you had a connection...he was the only one who truly understood how you felt.  
To be an outcast, rejected and ridiculed.

 _"I'm slowly losin' my ground. Slowly sinkin' down..."_

What it was like to feel yourself lose control...to be feared... _.feared by those closest to you..._  
When he pulls you close, his cool lips brush the shell your ear as he whispers to you.  
He knows what it's like to be a lonely, misunderstood soul, that only asks to be accepted by others..  
His thumb strokes your cheek, wiping away a single tear.

 _"...Trapped by this thing they call love..."_

Your arms slide around his neck, fingers tangling in his raven locks.

 _"...Oh baby..."_

You sway with the soothing jazz, your lips captured by the Trickster God in a tender kiss.


End file.
